


bitter taste of revenge

by kinneyb



Series: giving back [8]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Beast!Eliot, M/M, Season 1, during season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: When Quentin and Julia are tasked with jumping timelines in search of a crystal, they discover something Quentin never thought he'd see: Eliot as The Beast.





	bitter taste of revenge

**Author's Note:**

> obviously takes place during s1  
follow my Twitter: coldwaugh

Quentin stares at the portal with wide eyes. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks quietly, peering over at Julia. He’s not even sure how they opened the portal. He knows Alice had been a big help, which isn’t surprising, considering she’s stupidly smart.

Julia smiles at him, oozing confidence in a way he could only dream of. “We’ll be fine,” she assures him, gently touching his arm. “Remember the plan?”

He thinks, hard, pushing down the anxiety and panic. “Um, get in, grab the crystal and get out, preferably without running into anyone we know, our friends especially.”

She beams. “See, easy.”

Quentin smiles tightly. “Easy, yeah, totally.”

Except they were going through a magical portal to a different timeline, way back, because Kady had caught wind of a crystal that, for a short period of time, could enhance a person’s power tenfold. The kind of power they needed to defeat The Beast. The only issue was the crystal could only be used once per person and had been destroyed before their timeline. Probably for good reason, but. Before that, it’d been kept under lock and key at Brakebills.

Anyway, the general consensus was they needed it. For Alice. If she had that, and her own talent, surely she could defeat The Beast. Hopefully.

Julia squeezes his arm once before letting go. “It’ll be okay. Just - stay focused and don’t freak out, okay?”

He nods quickly and watches as Julia steps through the portal and disappears. Quentin looks back and sees Margo, Alice, Penny, Kady, and lastly, and maybe most importantly, Eliot.

“Okay. So. I’ll see you guys later?”

Eliot looks mildly angry, and he knows why.

They had argued over who should go on the mission, quest, whatever. Julia was the obvious choice of the group, the second strongest and smartest after Alice, who they couldn’t risk losing.

Quentin had simply volunteered himself. Because whoever went needed a sidekick, right? In case something happened to them. They couldn’t put all their faith in a singular person, logically.

Eliot and Margo had both hated the idea, equally pissed off. Eliot with a pinched expression, and Margo with fire in her eyes.

“This is dumb,” Margo had said, arms folded over her chest and staring at Quentin like he was dumb, but someone she truly cared for. “I can go.”

Eliot had huffed and wrapped an arm around her. “No,” he said. “I should. You and Q should stay.”

“Uhh, I already kind of volunteered, guys, in case you forgot,” Quentin had replied, raising a hand. “Listen. You guys are... strong.” If a little messy. “We shouldn’t risk losing you, too.”

Unlike him, they were… valuable to their team. He didn’t say that, of course, already knowing how they - Eliot, particularly - would reply.

(Not well.)

“Q, this is stupid,” Eliot had snapped, suddenly. “Don’t do it. Let Julia go by herself.” Quentin opened his mouth, but Eliot cut him off. “You said it yourself; she’s strong.” Then, “please.”

Quentin had turned away after that and walked off. Because he knew if he stayed, he might’ve just fallen for Eliot’s pleas. Because he’d been weak for Eliot since the first day he stumbled upon Brakebills and saw him lounging on the sign, smoking a cigarette, like something out of a dream.

So, now, there’s not much he can do.

Eliot just stares at him before finally turning away and walking off, leaving the room. He can hear his footsteps descending down the hall, and then finally nothing.

Quentin’s shoulders slump. He should’ve expected that. Margo sighs and steps forward, a hard expression on her face.

“Be safe, Coldwater,” she barks.

He nods curtly. “I’ll see you all again soon.”

Alice doesn’t step forward, but nods. And just that is enough to grab his attention. “Remember, avoid running into… us, if you can help it.” She shrugs. “I’m not entirely sure what’ll happen if you do, but it’s better to just keep things simpler if we can. Messing with time is difficult magic. 

And, with that, he turns and steps through the portal.

/

Quentin steps out into a warm, sunny day.

He struggles for a moment before remembering oh, right--they’re at Brakebills. It’s different, though, starting with the alarming amount of security. He’s barely been there for five seconds when he’s pulled by his arm under some bushes with a frazzled looking Julia.

“Wanna tell me why the security here now looks like a literal prison?” she asks, like he would have an answer.

He hums and looks back. “I’m assuming they’re even worse off,” he says, feeling sad that they can’t help them. Themselves. Weird, he thinks, shaking his head and pushing the thought away.

“No point in worrying too hard about it.”

He watches as Julia turns and walks for a bit, avoiding the eyes of a guard before she steps out from under the bushes. Quentin joins her, not as gracefully.

“Okay, where the fuck do we begin?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips and looking around with narrowed eyes.

Quentin chews on his bottom lip. “It’s going to be in that stupid room, conjoined with Henry's office, right?”

“Most likely,” she replies.

Quentin sighs. “I’ll make a distraction. You sneak through his wards and grab it.”

Julia looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “You really think it’ll be so easy?” she asks, not unkindly.

He shrugs and starts walking in the direction of Henry’s office. “Honestly? Probably not,” he says once Julia has caught up with him. “But it’s worth a shot. I mean, eventually something has to go our way, right?” he asks, almost hopefully.

Julia smiles, a bit soft. “Oh, Q,” she says.

/

They’re halfway to the building when the sounds first starts: yelling and blasts, like–“battle magic,” Quentin gasps, scrambling to a spot and grabbing Julia by the arm. “Jules, listen.”

She stops and listens, a frown forming on her face. “What is–”

Before she can finish, they spot a sea of students spilling out of the main building, yelling. Quentin’s stomach flips when he notices a few of them are covered in blood.

“Jules,” he repeats, smacking her arm.

She nods. “I see it,” she replies. “Do you think–”

Quentin takes a sharp breath. He doesn’t need to answer. “It’s him,” he says.

Julia pulls her arm out of his grip and starts off in the direction of the building. Quentin gasps and chases after her. “Julia, no,” he yells, following her up the stairs and through the doors. “We can’t do anything!”

For two reasons.

1) they’re not powerful enough.

2) this is messing with the timeline in a way Alice warned them about.

Quentin chases Julia down a few halls, following the screams of terror, and into a classroom. He spots Henry on the floor near the front of the room, covered in blood and withering in pain.

He shivers.

The floor is littered with dead guards.

“Jules,” he says, barely a whisper.

Standing in front of Henry’s withering body is The Beast. Quentin wishes, hopes, they might be able to escape without harm, but then The Beast–Martin–is turning.

His breath catches in his throat, even now at the sight of him, of the moths flying around in place of a head, a face. Julia is obviously not. She lifts her chin and raises her hands.

“You’re a–”

Before she can even get the words out, Martin has flung her across the room. She collides with some desks and groans.

Quentin finally snaps out of it.

“Hey, Martin!”

Martin turns toward him. Quentin hasn’t yet learned any proper battle magic, but Martin doesn’t need to know that. Quentin lifts his hands into the air and waits for the incoming attack.

But Martin just stands there, the only sound now is that of the moths fluttering.

“Q?” he says, and–and that’s not Martin’s voice. Quentin realizes, with a fright, that he knows that voice. “How–you’re supposed to be dead,” he continues.

Quentin slowly lowers his hands. “Eliot?”

The moths disappear, and standing in front of Quentin is indeed Eliot Waugh. He looks wildly different from their Eliot, of course, his hair is longer and tangled, and he hasn’t shaved in months if not longer. Quentin swallow around the lump in his throat.

“El,” he breathes. “What happened?”

But Eliot doesn’t answer. No, he lifts his hand and curls a finger, and Quentin gasps as he’s thrown back. He falls beside Julia, who reaches out and touches his shoulder, asking if he’s okay 

He’s not. He most definitely is _not_ okay.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Julia barks, climbing to her feet. “He’s your friend,” she says, gesturing at Quentin.

Eliot steps forward, over a puddle of blood.

“This is a trick of some sort,” he says simply.

Julia squints.

“Quentin died almost a year ago.”

Quentin finally sits up, aching with pain. He stares at Julia’s back for a second before looking at Eliot, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. _No_.

“Eliot,” he says, carefully. “What did you do?”

He laughs sharply, but it’s devoid of any real emotion. Quentin slowly stands up with shaky legs. “I don’t need to answer to you,” he says. “Or you,” he adds, knocking Julia back with another quirk of his finger 

Quentin gasps and looks her way. She seems to be okay, just shaken.

“El. Jesus,” he breathes, looking back at him.

This wasn’t right. He didn’t care what timeline they were in, Eliot was not–and never could be–a monster.

“Stop calling me that,” Eliot says.

Quentin doesn’t need to ask. “You–you don’t have your Shade anymore,” he whispers, not really a question. “What did you do?” he repeats, louder. “What the fuck happened?”

“Don’t you know?” he replies, raising both eyebrows. And for a moment, just a moment, he looks like Eliot–their Eliot. “Isn’t that why you’re taunting me with,” he gestures at Quentin’s body, “that meat suit?”

Quentin takes a shaky breath. “El, I _am_ Quentin,” he says, firm.

Eliot looks up and frowns. “Quentin is dead.”

Maybe if he can just show him he’s really Quentin, maybe this could all stop. Maybe–maybe he could do some good for this timeline before they leave. Fix things.

“I’m alive,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest. “Come here, feel.”

Eliot stares at his hand, at his chest, where his heart was currently beating especially fast, and for a few seconds almost seems to be considering it.

Then Julia is throwing a powerful burst of battle magic at him, and he’s thrown off his feet. Quentin scrambles forward.

“_No!_” he yells.

Eliot stumbles back a few steps before he rights himself. Julia rushes over and grabs Quentin by the arm.

“Q, what the fuck are you thinking?” she whispers angrily.

He ignores her. “El,” he says, desperately. "We have to help him," he hisses, finally looking at Julia.

Eliot lifts his head up and glares at them. “I knew it,” he says, oddly calm. “You’re both fakes,” he says. “Die. Both of you,” he raises his hands and suddenly they’re both thrown back against one of the walls, hovering a few feet above the floor, held in place by Eliot’s power.

The Beast’s power, which means–

“You–you killed him,” Quentin gasps out.

Eliot steps forward, approaching them.

“You killed Martin,” he continues.

Eliot steps even closer. He looks Julia over, like he’s assessing her, before he lets her fall to the floor. She withers and coughs, holding her throat. Quentin struggles against the invisible forces holding him in place.

“I killed him because he killed Quentin and Margo first,” he says, surprisingly quiet. Then he’s looking at Quentin fiercely. “I might not have my Shade anymore, but the anger–it’s never truly gone, you know that? And now here you are, an imposter, probably using some cheap cloaking spell because you heard of their deaths and thought you could use them against me.”

Quentin barely even registers that he’s crying, tears flowing down his face. “El, I swear–I’m me. It’s Quentin. Not–not _your_ Quentin, exactly, but-”

Eliot raises a hand and, mostly just for show because he certainly doesn’t need to, grips Quentin by the throat. “Exactly,” he replies. “You're not _my_ Quentin.”

Quentin’s breath catches in his throat. God, in all the ways he ever expected to be killed, he never imagined it would happen by Eliot’s hands. “Please,” he begs weakly.

Then he sees it, over Eliot’s shoulder. Julia has crawled away, and Eliot hasn’t noticed, somehow, too focused on Quentin. She stands up slowly, a bit shaky, and makes eye contact with Quentin over his shoulder.

He knows what the expression on her face means. No. No, no, _no_. He can still do something. He can still help Eliot–he just needs time, a new idea.

She smiles sadly and lifts her hands.

Quentin peers into Eliot’s eyes, and startles when he sees the rawness in them. People couldn’t feel, have emotions, without their Shade, supposedly, but even now, Quentin could see the pain in Eliot’s eyes.

So real, and heartbreaking.

He thinks of what he might do–what he’d be capable of–if The Beast murdered his friends. Julia and Eliot, especially. Quentin thinks he might make some mistakes, too, out of anger and sorrow.

Eliot reaches up, brushing some hair out of Quentin’s face. For a moment, he’s oddly gentle, stroking his cheek. Then his eyes harden, lips pressing together. “How dare you use my family against me,” he says darkly, his hand quickly wrapping back around Quentin’s neck. He snarls. “Go to Hell.”

Quentin blinks a few times, barely able to breathe under Eliot’s hand, so, so tight. He wishes he could help him and take his pain away because ripping his Shade out obviously wasn’t enough.

He was still suffering, terribly.

Quentin barely registers he’s crying again.

He peers at Julia over Eliot’s shoulder.

She tilts her head, eyes sad but determined, capable of it. Quentin is not. He closes his eyes and gasps out with the last of his breath:

“Do it!”

Quentin hears it: the cutting of flesh, yelling, and then he feels it, something warm and wet splattering all over him. Oh, God. Oh, he can’t open his eyes.

He really, really can’t.

He feels something grab his arm, soft and warm. “Q?” Julia asks, quietly. “Come on, we need to find the crystal and–” she cuts herself off. “Jesus Christ.”

Quentin doesn’t want to, but he opens his eyes, anyway, curiosity simmering under his skin. He sees Julia crouched over Eliot’s body, thankfully mostly hidden from view. Then she turns, a beautiful, glowing crystal hanging from her hand.

He blinks and scrambles to his feet.

“Is that–”

Julia nods curtly. “I can feel the power radiating off it,” she answers, examining it. “Eliot… had it,” she adds, softly.

Quentin takes a shaky breath. “Do you think–”

There were two options: Eliot had already used it once, or… he knowingly made the decision not to use it against them, for some reason. Quentin’s heart jumps.

"It’s not worth thinking about,” Julia answers gruffly and shoves it in her pocket, heading for the door.

Quentin knows what that means: she thinks it’s the latter and is so torn up she’d rather just push the thought away. He can’t blame her, of course, especially as he stands, frozen, staring at Eliot’s limp, bloody body.

“Q!” she calls sharply.

He swallows a sob. “I’m so, so sorry,” he whispers before turning and running after her.

/

When they get out of the building, Quentin realizes with dread that they’re surrounded by guards–magical guards.

“Oh, shit,” he mutters, roughly rubbing at his eyes.

Julia sighs and quickly knocks most of them back with a burst of battle magic. It was obvious she’d been spending a lot of time with Kady.

“Go!” she says, already running. “Run.”

Quentin doesn’t need to be told twice, for once. He darts off in the direction of the portal, chasing after Julia. He hears the guards chasing after them, having recollected themselves remarkably fast.

He watches as they approach the portal, glowing lightly. Julia jumps through, but not all the way–she keeps her hand on the other side, reaching out for Quentin.

His heart squeezes with love for his best friend, one of the bravest, smartest women he knew. He glances back at the guards once, gaining on him, before turning and running faster.

Quentin grabs her hand and is pulled through the portal, a bit rough. He lands on the other side–in the cottage–and watches as Alice quickly closes it with the help of Margo at her side.

So many brave, smart women, he thinks.

He wheezes, gasping for air.

Julia seems better off, though still exhausted as she leans her weight on Kady.

Then, “did you get it?”

Quentin looks up at Alice, who’s wringing her hands nervously, eyes wide. For just a moment, she looks impossibly young. Not old enough to have the fate of the world in her hands, that's for sure. Julia clears her throat and pulls the crystal out of her pocket.

“Mission accomplished,” she remarks with a weak grin.

Alice lets out a sharp laugh and takes it.

Then Margo is crouching down in front of him, the corners of her hard expression cracking with softness, relief. She smacks his arm. “You’re fucking lucky you’re okay,” she says.

Quentin smiles weakly.

Then there’s someone else couching beside Margo, and Quentin feels like his heart is going to burst. Eliot, in all his glory, with his stupid vest and perfectly adjusted curls. He sobs, sudden and wet.

“Q?” Eliot asks hurriedly. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking him over quickly.

He sobs again and lurches forward, throwing himself at Eliot. He doesn’t even care if the others are watching or that they both lose their balance and go tumbling to the floor, Quentin hitting his knee on the hard floor and gasping with pain.

“Q,” Eliot breathes sharply, steadying them.

Quentin buries his face against Eliot’s shoulder and just– _sobs_. He hears Eliot ask something (“what happened?”) but Julia doesn’t answer, probably just shakes her head. Then he feels Eliot shrug and wrap his arms around him, tightly.

Eliot is alive and okay, and maybe still a battered around the edges, but that’s okay–they can deal with battered. They were all a little roughed up, right?

“Please,” Quentin says, barely a whisper.

He knows he can’t speak for Margo, but he knows her pretty well by now, so he’s sure if she’d seen what he saw, she would say the same thing. So he pulls back and looks into Eliot’s eyes.

“Never think revenge is the answer,” he says.

Eliot blinks at him. “What?” he asks.

Quentin sniffs loudly and shakes his head firmly. “Just–never forget that, okay?” he says, staring at him. “No matter what happens. Okay?” he adds, desperately.

Margo shuffles closer. “Q, what are–”

But then he reaches up and grabs Eliot by the face. “El,” he breathes, not even thinking anymore, just letting the words flow out of him. “You are so good. So, so good. I know you don’t think that, but you are.”

Margo doesn’t interrupt, pauses a couple steps away. Eliot stares back at Quentin, pressing his lips together. Quentin knows Eliot doesn’t think highly of himself–he pretends, sure, but it’s all an act, a mask.

“Okay,” Eliot says. His eyes look a little wet.

Good enough, Quentin thinks. He lunges forward and hugs him again. No one says anything. It’s comfortably quiet. Eliot rubs Quentin back, which is ironic. _He_ should be the one comforting _him_.

“What the fuck just happened?” Penny asks, finally interrupting the moment.

Quentin laughs wetly and pulls away, smiling at Eliot, warm and soft. Eliot smiles back, slowly, a bit cautious, definitely confused. Quentin squeezes his shoulders.

"We can all talk about it,” Julia announces into the air, “_later_.”

He loves her so, so much. Because right now all he wants is this: the safety that is offered by Eliot’s arms, his warmth.


End file.
